Source: Compiled by Homecoming II Project 15 April 1990 from one or more of the
following: raw data from U.S. Government agency sources, correspondence with
POW/MIA families, published sources, interviews. Updated by the P.O.W.
NETWORK.

REMARKS: 730305 RELSD BY DRV

SYNOPSIS: The Grumman A6 Intruder is a two-man all weather, low-altitude,
carrier-based attack plane, with versions adapted as aerial tanker and
electronic warfare platform. The A6A primarily flew close-air-support,
all-weather and night attacks on enemy troop concentrations, and night
interdiction missions. Its advanced navigation and attack system, known as DIANE
(Digital Integrated Attack navigation Equipment) allowed small precision
targets, such as bridges, barracks and fuel depots to be located and attacked in
all weather conditions, day or night. The planes were credited with some of the
most difficult single-plane strikes in the war, including the destruction of the
Hai Duong bridge between Hanoi and Haiphong by a single A6. Their missions were
tough, but their crews among the most talented and most courageous to serve the
United States.

Lt. Lewis I. Williams was a pilot assigned to Attack Squadron 85 onboard the USS
KITTY HAWK (CVA 63). On April 24, 1967, he launched in his A6A Intruder attack
bomber with his bombardier/navigator, Lt. Michael D. Christian, on a daylight
strike mission into North Veitnam.

Approximately 3 miles from the target, their port (left) wing was hit by 85mm
anti-aircraft fire and was subsequently engulfed in flames. Lt. Williams
reversed course and jettisoned his ordnance before both crewmen ejected. Both
men were seen to land in an open field about 100 yards apart and established
radio contact with airborne aircraft. The crewmen appeared uninjured and
reported their condition as good. The ejection occurred in a well-defended,
populated area near the city of Kep in Ha Bac Province, and capture was almost
immediate.

Williams and Christian were held in various locations in Hanoi, North Vietnam
before they were released in March 1973. Christian received an award for a
birthday during his captivity for being "The Best Bull Shooter in the Whole
World." Williams' and Christian's lives followed very diverse courses after
their release.

Lt. Williams remained in the Navy and attained the rank of Captain. In 1989, his
duty assignment was with the office of the Chief of Naval Operations at the
Pentagon in Washington, D.C.

Lt. Christian was promoted during his captivity to the rank of Lt. Commander. He
voluntarily retired on February 1, 1978 while at the Armed Forces Staff College.
His resignation was as a protest to president-elect Jimmy Carter's amnesty plan
for draft dodgers. In protest, Christian threw his medals on the grave of a
veteran. He had been awarded two Silver Stars, three Bronze Stars, four Air
Medals, the Legion of Merit, and the Navy Commendation Medal.

In September 1983, Michael D. Christian died in a fire in his home in Virginia
Beach, Virginia.

Williams and Christian were among 591 lucky Americans who were released in 1973
from Vietnam prisoner of war camps. Unfortunately, nearly 2300 are still
prisoner, missing and otherwise unaccounted for from the Vietnam war. As
Williams must surely be aware, thousands of reports relating to these men have
been received by the U.S. Government. The thought that some of their comrades
are still alive is very disturbing to most returnees. They had a code among them
that none of them could honorably return home unless they all came home.

Today, many authorities who have reviewed the largely classified information
relating to missing Americans in Southeast Asia have reluctantly concluded that
hundreds of Americans remain alive today in captivity. It's long past time our
men were home.

My pilot was Lt. Lewis Irving (Irv) Williams. We were shot down 24 April 1967
at Kep Airfield about 30 miles northeast of Hanoi.

I frequently found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. I got to know
the Vietnamese and their methods quite well during five major and various
minor pain sessions. Their attempts at propaganda and indoctrination taught
me, as it did so many, just how strongly I support the ideals and policies of
my country and our system of government. I learned a great deal about myself
and my fellow man. I saw Americans function under conditions of great stress
and report with pride their tremendous courage and resourcefulness . Perhaps
the two strongest lessons I learned are: One, look around and find those who
love you. Be aware of their love and react to it while you still can. Two, the
International Communist Revolution is a deadly serious business and we MUST
become aware of it. We need not panic, but we absolutely must deal with
communism from a position of strength. Peace at any price politics will
destroy us.

-------
A friend of mine forwarded me the following story. I
got to live with Mike and considered him a great roommate.
Mike was an A6A pilot, POW 4-24-67 to 3-4-73. A couple of years following
release, he was trapped in an apartment by a fire. The bars on the window
prevented him from from making an escape. He battled to get through
but lost the fight. MM (John Michael McGrath ex POW)
______

Our Flag- The Stars and Stripes "Mike's Flag"

(Condensed from a speech by Leo K Thorness, recipient of the
Congressional Medal of Honor. )

You've probably seen the bumper sticker somewhere along the road. It
depicts an American Flag, accompanied by the words "These colors don't
run." I'm always glad to see this, because it reminds me of an
incident from my confinement in North Vietnam at the Hao Lo POW Camp,
or the "Hanoi Hilton," as it became known.

Then a Major in the U.S. Air Force, I had been captured and imprisoned
from 1967-1973. Our treatment had been frequently brutal. After three
years, however, the beatings and torture became less frequent. During
the last year, we were allowed outside most days for a couple of
minutes to bathe. We showered by drawing water from a concrete tank
with a homemade bucket.

One day as we all stood by the tank, stripped of our clothes, a young
Naval pilot named Mike Christian found the remnants of a handkerchief
in a gutter that ran under the prison wall. Mike managed to sneak the
grimy rag into our cell and began fashioning it into a flag. Over
time we all loaned him a little soap, and he spent days cleaning the
material. We helped by scrounging and stealing bits and pieces of
anything he could use. At night, under his mosquito net, Mike worked
on the flag. He made red and blue from ground-up roof tiles and tiny
amounts of ink and painted the colors onto the cloth with watery rice
glue. Using thread from his own blanket and a homemade bamboo needle,
he sewed on stars. Early in the morning a few days later, when the
guards were not alert, he whispered loudly from the back of our cell,
"Hey gang, look here." He proudly held up this tattered piece of
cloth, waving it as if in a breeze. If you used your imagination, you
could tell it was supposed to be an American flag. When he raised
that smudgy fabric, we automatically stood straight and saluted, our
chests puffing out, and more than a few eyes had tears. About once a
week the guards would strip us, run us outside and go through our
clothing. During one of those shakedowns, they found Mike's flag. We
all knew what would happen. That night they came for him. Night
interrogations were always the worst. They opened the cell door and
pulled Mike out. We could hear the beginning of the torture before
they even had him in the torture cell. They beat him most of the
night. About daylight they pushed what was left of him back through
the cell door. He was badly broken; even his voice was gone.

Within two weeks, despite the danger, Mike scrounged another piece of
cloth and began another flag. The Stars and Stripes, our national
symbol, was worth the sacrifice to him. Now, whenever I see the flag,
I think of Mike and the morning he first waved that tattered emblem of
a nation. It was then, thousands of miles from home in a lonely prison
cell, that he showed us what it is to be truly free.